


je ne regrette rien

by copperiisulfate



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-23
Updated: 2013-10-23
Packaged: 2017-12-30 05:53:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1014910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copperiisulfate/pseuds/copperiisulfate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This week’s hobby happens to be dancing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	je ne regrette rien

**Author's Note:**

> For consta-ntly on tumblr, who requested this pair and gave me the option of choosing _marriage of convenience_ or _dancing_ for a trope-fic meme. I took the latter and ran away with it.

 

 

This week’s hobby happens to be dancing. 

Totsuka had snagged himself a couple of classes at the local community centre in mixed styles, some concoction of ballroom and salsa and swing and who knows what else, and had kept insisting that he needed to practice.

Today, he has accumulated a variety of glares from Mikoto the first twelve times he asked, but once the bar closes, Mikoto has either caved or decided to humour him after all.

Izumo catches glimpses of the spectacle from behind the bar in between shelving bottles and soaking the dishes. The combination of Mikoto’s growing frustration at his own footwork and life choices and Totsuka’s enthusiasm is some kind of magnificent to behold.

It all lasts right up until Mikoto manages to step on both of Totsuka’s feet simultaneously, grumble, and then turn a laughing Totsuka by the shoulders and hand him off to Izumo in his typical fashion of: _Here, take it, and do something about it._ Which is to say, it does not last very long at all.

Izumo rolls his eyes, mostly at himself, because everything is entirely his own fault seeing as he’s been the one to spoil them both rotten.

Well, Totsuka’s out of luck. Izumo’s still got the bar-top to clean and there are dishes in the sink, not to mention, Anna’s fast asleep upstairs. And so, the night ends with him begging Totsuka to please turn the music off, and no, he is not going to ask why Croatian Polka of all things; no, he genuinely  _does not_  want to know.

 

 

*

 

 

Days later, Izumo will realize his mistake, which will have been the failure to realize that when Totsuka has his mind set on something, he is completely and horribly  _relentless_.

 

 

*

 

 

Somehow—and don’t ask him how—they arrive at a point where the weekend is spent spinning around everyone from Anna (who is thrilled) to Chitose (who insists it will improve his chances with the ladies) to getting others to pair up and try it. 

This also happens to be when Totsuka decides that an ancient imported jukebox would be a great new addition to the bar and, Izumo sighs but either does not have the heart to tell him or knows better than to try by now; it’s almost impossible to tell anymore. 

It’s all a set up for disaster, Izumo is sure because Totsuka seems to be forgetting the target demographic he is exposing this to is a bunch of teenage delinquents. Still, it’s something of a sight. Bandou has two left feet but Akagi is awfully patient with him. Kamamoto has been trying to get Yata to dance with Anna because it’s the least jarring height difference but Yata gets red in the face every time he so much as touches her, and by the fifth attempt, he’s quit altogether and peaced out of the bar, skateboard tucked under arm. Kamamoto shrugs and takes his place, leans down quite a bit, but Anna seems to laugh more with every twirl and, somehow, in that moment, it all seems worthwhile. The sight of it draws out something of a twitch of the lips from even Mikoto, who’s parked at the bar, far away from everyone’s feet after the first and last time. Izumo, of course, diligently calls him out on all of this, and it gets him a huff before Mikoto slips outside for a smoke.

 

 

*

 

 

"So," Izumo says to Totsuka after closing. "It hasn’t been your worst idea." 

He’s drying the last set of dishes as Totsuka helps stack and arrange them. The low-lighting and warm silence is the same as it is any other Sunday night, the bar clear of everyone but the four, Mikoto and Anna asleep upstairs.

"You think so?" He can’t see Totsuka’s face but doesn’t need to, not to know that he’s beaming, happy to be validated.

"Yeah," Izumo considers it. "We could maybe even market it: salsa every Wednesdays. Swing on Sundays. Maybe it’d even get me some normal clientele for a change, and net annual profit, also for a change. You’d get a raise, of course."

"I’ll make posters if you want," Totsuka chimes in. "But Kusanagi-san, you didn’t join us even once!" 

Izumo grins. “Well, someone’s got to keep this place standing while all of you are busy causing a commotion.”

"Not fair," Totsuka says, looking at him now. "Not fair to you." And Izumo’s not sure if it’s just in his head or if he actually sounds a little sad.

"Oh don’t be so dramatic," Izumo says. "Besides, y’know, it’s worth it sometimes," and doesn’t miss the way Totsuka’s eyes light up at that, feels quietly grateful for the fact. It’s not a lie, or maybe just a little bit of a lie. The truth: it’s worth it all of the time, absolutely and always.

"Come on," Totsuka says to him, quiet, taking the last plate out of his hands and tugging him by the wrist towards the open space in the bar left from pushing the chairs aside. 

Izumo lets himself be dragged along. ”What now?”  

And when Totsuka heads towards the jukebox, Izumo winces. “Yeah, so Mikoto will probably sleep through anything but you’re definitely going to wake Anna.”

Totsuka waves him off. “I’ll turn it down.” 

He decides on an odd choice. A French song with muted vocals that Izumo recognizes from some faraway time, tries to pin down exactly when and, in the process, barely notices Totsuka’s hand at the small of his back, taking Izumo’s hand with the other.

Izumo looks at him, smiles, can finally feel the weight of the day’s end sink into his bones, the feeling of arriving home at last, some place familiar and warm and carved out just for him. 

"If you wanted to do ballroom, you should have just asked. I could have taught you, silly."

"I know," Totsuka swallows, and Izumo can see the movement in his throat, gaze dropping lower to where his shirt collar is opened, just a little—Izumo blinks the sight away. "Maybe I just wanted to save you some work. You’re always working so hard, always so busy."  

"Not for this," Izumo sighs, and rearranges them so he is leading.  _Not for you._ "C’mon," he says, close to Totsuka’s ear. "You’ve been leading all night." 

They waltz in a small circle until Totsuka ends up more or less just leaning against him, and they’re doing little more than swaying while holding onto each other, relaxing into each other’s space. 

It’s been a good night, Izumo thinks, absently, with his arms locked around Totsuka's waist and Totsuka's cheek pressed against his chest. He kisses the top of Totsuka's head, barely conscious of the gesture until afterwards, or of Totsuka leaning up on his toes to return it, right up until there’s a press of lips to the corner of his mouth, and he’s met head-on with a sunny smile, blinding bright.

Before he can say or do anything further, Totsuka beats him to it. 

"Thank you," he says, "for this dance, for everything," and it’s the voice and the smile that’s reserved just for him, the one that drowns out the rest of their surroundings and echoes loud long after, loud enough for Izumo to forget that their song ended some time ago.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song _Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien_ by Edith Piaf.


End file.
